


Two Humans, A Demon, and a Not-So-Much-Angel Walk Into a Bar

by amethystviolist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Case Fic, Las Vegas, M/M, banshee - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:58:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2558864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystviolist/pseuds/amethystviolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Sam, Dean, and newly-human (think season 8) Castiel hear of a banshee in Las Vegas, they're pleased to go hunt it down. But then an unexpected visitor tags along, meaning someone has to demon-sit until the hunt is over. The story splits into two, following Sam and Dean on the hunt for the banshee and a surprise villain, and keeping up with Cas and Crowley as the demon introduces Castiel to a few things about being human, before coming back together in a nice, rather fluffy conclusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Humans, A Demon, and a Not-So-Much-Angel Walk Into a Bar

**Author's Note:**

> ~For Erika, who's a wonderful friend to me, and ships Destiel harder than should be humanly possible~
> 
> Her prompt: "I would love a fic of [D]ean and Sam taking a case in Las Vegas and Cas and Crowley decide to tag along and they end up being left alone and Cas must demonsit the king of hell and they go out and Crowley drags Cas all over sin city. It's Crowley's happy place..."
> 
> Drop me a comment! Seriously, do it, I'll love it. And respond to it.

“Hello, boys.” The smooth British voice startled Dean, who jerked the steering wheel by accident, veering towards the edge of the road. In the passenger seat, Sam lost hold of the heavy book he was reading, cursing as it hit the floor with a thump and lost his place. In the backseat, Castiel merely looked a bit surprised at the demon’s sudden appearance next to him.

“Dammit, Crowley,” snapped Dean, righting the Impala and glaring at the demon in the rearview mirror. “I swear I’m gonna-”

“Yes, yes, you’ll exact physically violent revenge, as you’ve kindly shared before.” The King of Hell leaned back in the seat, examining the interior of the car.

“Always so violent, Dean. Sam, looking good. Castiel, a human? Interesting,” Crowley greeted the occupants of the car, studying each one in turn. “You know,” he added, glancing around, “It’s rather nice in here when I’m not being kept prisoner.”

“Yeah, don’t get used to that,” Dean replied angrily. Sam twisted in the passenger seat to display what Dean had dubbed ‘The Bitch Face’. Crowley smiled back overly sweetly.

“Aw, Moose, that pout is just adorable.” Sam instantly scowled. “Do moose have expressions?” Crowley added, more to himself than any other occupants of the car.

“What is it that you want?” Castiel interrupted, giving Crowley a calculating stare.

“We’re kinda busy,” Sam added, “There’s been a string of weird murders in Nevada.”

“Nevada? I hate Nevada,” Crowley commented. “It’s too dry and boring, and the people don’t seem to be very ambitious. And that’s bad for business, you know.” Sam sighed, and turned back around, reaching for the book at his feet.

“If you don’t have something to tell us, get the hell out of my car,” grumbled Dean, bemoaning every second the mouthy sack of sulfur dirtied- no, _defiled_ \- his Baby.

“Bit pushy, aren't we?" Crowley asked calmly, raising his eyebrows. "You’ve got quite a drive ahead of you, after all, why not spend the time talking to me?”

“Do you want the full dissertation or the cliffsnotes?” Sam replied flatly. The uninvited passenger held up his palms in a gesture of surrender.

“Alright, have it your way. My details can really wait, but you three obviously can’t,” sighed Crowley. “How would you feel if I told you that I’m on holiday?” The Winchesters exchanged a confused and wary glance. Castiel’s eyes narrowed quickly, suspiciously.

“Vacation? From what, being dictator?” asked Dean.

“King, actually, but yes. I’d be taking a week or so off, just for…” he paused slightly, which didn’t help the growing feeling of suspicion the other three shared. “Just for personal reasons,” he finished. Castiel opened his mouth to ask a question, but Sam beat him to it.

“Who’s in charge instead of you?” Sam questioned shrewdly. Crowley shrugged slightly, looking unconcerned.

“Ah, well, they’ll fight over it, of course, probably some bloodshed, but I imagine Daisy will come out on top.”

“Daisy the Demon?" repeated Dean incredulously.

"Yes. Problem?" asked Crowley, raising his eyebrows.

"Uh, no, forget it," Dean coughed.

"If you're taking a vacation, why are you here? You only see us for business," Sam observed with suspicion, drumming his fingers softly on the cover of the book.

"What can I say?" Crowley shrugged. "You're very entertaining." Sam sighed and Dean shook his head slowly, while Cas in the backseat appeared focused and suspicious.

"What?" Crowley defended himself from the dubious expressions. "You fight monsters, and ride around with an ex-angel with a price on his head, and there's always brotherly drama, and every other week one of you is dead and the other gives me a ring. Yet you say _I_ only call for business," the demon in a suit huffed.

"You do only call for business," Castiel pointed out flatly. The demon paused for a moment.

"That may be true," Crowley conceded patiently, "But not this time. This time I've decided to try hunting." Castiel’s eyes widened in understanding while the Winchesters worked through the implications of the claim.

“Bambi or Tony the Tiger?” Dean asked without much enthusiasm.

“If I were deer hunting, it would be far too… ordinary. I’m ready to try something new,” Crowley explained in a tone that made the Winchesters rather suspicious of his true intentions. “I want to hunt monsters in general, really. All but the demon cases, for obvious reasons,” he added with a tilt of his head.

“Why would you want to hunt monsters? Don’t they help your…” Sam gestured vaguely, “Your business?”

“Eh…” Crowley made a so-so gesture with his hand. “They’re a bit messy. And noisy. But,” added the King, wincing slightly, “I can’t off the buggers on my own.”

“You have demon minions, use them,” Sam said dismissively. Crowley heaved a sigh, but Castiel took pity on the hunters before the demon could mock them any more.

“He wants to hunt monsters,” Castiel finally stated. “As a partner with us.” Dean very nearly swerved off the road again.

"You want to what?" The brothers said together, both turning around to look at Crowley in horror.

"No need to take it like that, two Winchesters might crowd the bed a bit.” Only the rumbling of the car filled the heavy silence as Sam and Dean traded looks full of dread.

“It can't be all that hard if you two manage to pull it off," Crowley commented.

"No way,” Dean said at last, regaining his voice. “No, no, no, we don't hunt with any other people or creatures or beings or whatever. Get out of the car," Dean demanded.

"You’re toting Castiel around with you, and he’s gone on some hunts, too, pathetically human as he is now," mentioned Crowley, not unlike a whiny sibling. "Why discriminate?"

"Because you're a demon! We ain't working with a demon!" protested Dean.

"Demon factor aside, I don't trust you to not stab us in the back. Your record of dead associates is not exactly reassuring," Castiel added with a pointed look.

“Yeah, and if you’re taking off from being king to go hunting with vague reasons, there’s definitely some kind of an ulterior motive,” Sam concluded.

"Come now, boys, would I murder you? Really?" asked Crowley.

"Yes," the Winchesters vehemently agreed. Crowley rolled his eyes, sighing slightly.

“Fine, no hunting. Can I stay for the trip at least?” he bargained. “I haven’t been to Nevada in decades.”

“I thought you said you hated Nevada,” Sam reminded him.

“Oh, yes, I hate working there. But if you stopped at Las Vegas at all, then I think I could entertain myself reasonably well. I _am_ on holiday now.” Again, the Winchesters exchanged a tense glance with each other and Cas.

“Why do you want to come with us, again?” asked Dean cautiously.

“You’re better than anything on the telly at the moment,” answered the man, smirking.

“I do not think a demon accompanying us would be wise,” Castiel supplied, glaring at Crowley.

“We don’t have any good reason to trust you, especially with a case that’s in Vegas,” Sam continued, already opening up his book again.

“So this is-” A loud _BANG_ interrupted Dean, and the car suddenly swerved to the right, making Dean curse wildly and Castiel and Sam clutch their seats in mild panic. Dean struggled to correct the path of the Impala and stop the car.

“Dammit!” Dean cried, leaping out of the car as soon as it stopped. He ran to the passenger side and started inspecting the wreckage of the tire there. Inside the car, Castiel peered out the window at the bits of black rubber strewn across the road.

“Don’t worry, Cas, it’s just a blown tire, it’s not hard to fix,” Sam tried to reassure the former angel. Castiel’s brow remained knit together in confusion.

“Why would… How…” Finally, Castiel gave up on his myriad of questions. He had never paid much attention to how a car operated, and Sam made the shocking explosion seem like a normal occurrence. Dean opened the driver’s side door and popped his head in.

“Hey, Sam, come on, let’s get the spare tire in the trunk and get back on the road. And you,” he said, pointing a finger at Crowley, “You get the hell out.” Dean slammed the door as he walked toward the trunk. Sam sighed and followed Dean, leaving Castiel and Crowley in the backseat together.

“So, human, eh?” Crowley said in the silence.

“Yes,” Castiel affirmed, plucking at the threads of the navy blue sweater he had found in the bunker and avoiding eye contact.

“What’s it like?” Crowley continued, smirking victoriously. “Down and dirty with the humans? Have you tried alcohol yet? Please say you’ve had a drink.”

“Yes, I have… had a drink,” Castiel answered shortly, looking uncomfortable and annoyed.

“What about, you know, having it off?” Crowley questioned further, smirking even more widely.

“I don’t understand,” Castiel replied, squinting confusedly at the demon.

“Well, when-” Crowley started to explain, but was interrupted by his door being opened.

“Crowley, the spare tire isn’t in the trunk,” Dean grumbled. “How about this, get us a spare tire and we’ll let you… tag along,” he sighed. The demon raised his eyebrows.

“So this is why you kept a tire in the trunk? I see. I didn’t think you needed it.”

“Excuse me?” Dean replied angrily. Crowley’s lips twisted into a smile.

“I might have used it to perfume my office, you know, that authentic burning rubber aroma. How about this,” he continued without letting Dean interrupt. Crowley snapped his fingers. Loud music suddenly blared, and the horizon instantly darkened, but neon lights flashed on every side and throngs of people littered the sidewalks and streets.

“We’re here now.”

The city loomed around them, cars honking and people shouting and talking, music of all types floating out to mingle above the heads of visitors. The heat seemed to be slowly roasting the pavement and its users, and it was easy for the hunters and Castiel to spot tourists who weren’t prepared for the desert sun. Now, however, the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon. All lights seemed to already be glowing on every side, proclaiming everything from quality gasoline to free flip-flops to superior beer. Sam saw the line of bars and T-shirt shops and inwardly sighed, anticipating finding the needle of a banshee in the haystack of Las Vegas. Castiel felt slightly overwhelmed by the scents and sights and sounds assaulting his senses, and for once fully appreciated how convenient teleportation really was. Dean, however, had his mind on other concerns.

“What the hell, Crowley, you left my car!” Dean shouted over the bass-thumping music coming out of some sort of flashy business next to them. Crowley shrugged and smiled.

“You’re welcome!” he replied, raising his own voice. “Go on your little monster hunt, I’ll stay out of the way.”

“And take human souls?” Sam answered. “No way.”

“I thought you wanted to try your hand at monster hunting!” Dean added, still inwardly sulking about his Baby abandoned at the side of a road somewhere in Utah.

“Changed my mind!” shouted Crowley. “It’s night in Vegas, and I’m on leave. Oh, and boys, do watch out for demons. I’m not in the office, so I won’t be watching to tell them off if they go after you.”

“No no no, wait, wait a second,” Dean hastily interrupted as Crowley started to turn away. “Take Cas with you.”

“What?” exclaimed Sam and Cas together, Sam looking confused, and Castiel looking very concerned at the prospect of being left with a demon. Crowley appeared to be intrigued, tapping his round chin as he considered.

“Why would I do that?” he asked slowly.

“Because you said we’ll have demons on our trail, and we can’t hunt a banshee, fight demons, and protect Cas.” Castiel hated to admit he needed protecting, but he was newly human. Besides, both angels and demons wanted him dead now, apparently. “Second,” Dean continued, “You can’t go on a soul-buying spree in Vegas. Most of them would be drunk deals anyway, and that’s just not fair,” Dean added as an afterthought. “So Cas can keep you on the straight and narrow, and you can keep him from getting stabbed. By the way, if you do let him get hurt-”

“We’ve been over this, I hurt your friends, you hurt me, yes, you’ve made that crystal clear,” Crowley sighed. The beat of music behind them and the flow of people around their small parley filled the pause.

“That’s not your worst plan ever,” Sam admitted. “Granted you’ve had some really bad plans, but… this is not one of them.”

“Thanks for the rousing vote of confidence, Sam,” Dean said sarcastically.

“I’m in,” Crowley declared. “I can show Cas around Vegas. Private tour, as you will.” He smiled blandly at Castiel, who looked concerned.

“I do not feel comfortable with this plan,” Castiel protested, eyeing Crowley with mistrust.

“Look, it’ll be for, like, five hours,” Dean tried to pacify him. “We already know pretty much where this thing is, right, Sammy?” Dean asked with a glance at Sam.

“Uh, yeah, think so,” the taller Winchester replied. “All set.”

“Great. That’s the plan, then. Cas, here.” Castiel gladly took the demon-killing blade Dean offered. “See you two in the Silver Bar, five hours.” With that, Dean Winchester turned and sauntered away, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. Sam turned to Castiel and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck. And do _not_ get drunk, that’s probably easier to do as a human, but… don’t do it.” Sam jogged to catch up to his brother, leaving Crowley and Castiel alone.

“This is going to be fun.” The King of Hell grinned broadly at his reluctant babysitter, anticipating the night already. Castiel fingered the knife before tucking it under his sweater into a pocket.

“I don’t think I’ll agree with your definition of fun,” he said dejectedly. Crowley clapped him on the shoulder.

“No. No, I don’t think you will. Which is why it’s so entertaining.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why is he even here?” Dean pondered for the hundredth time, pushing past the colorfully dressed shoppers and visitors.

“Look, Cas is going to be fine. As much of a past as they’ve had, Crowley still wants him alive,” Sam answered logically. “Cas is smart enough to take care of Crowley if he needs to. He draws Devil’s traps faster than-”

“It’s not just Cas I’m worried about,” Dean interrupted with frustration. “Yeah, he’s human and defenseless and largely useless now, but he’s still Cas, and he can be scary when he needs to. I’m more worried about Crowley’s real plans behind this supposed vacation of his. Why would he take a break from ruling Hell?”

“Someone could have kicked him out of office,” Sam shrugged, “But I think we’d have heard about something that big. Stressful job, maybe?”

“He’s handled it fine for years up here, and that’s even longer down there. Not the right option either,” Dean concluded.

“I dunno, man, it just seems weird to me that he wouldn’t have ulterior motives, but maybe he really is just taking some ‘me time’,” suggested Sam rather weakly, like he didn’t believe his own words.

“Well, until we have more info,” said Dean as they rounded a corner into another busy street, “I say we keep a better watch on Crowley than we have been. I mean, he’s in charge on some level of every evil thing we go after, we should be- Where are you going?” Dean asked in confusion, for Sam had just split off to walk to the right.

“We go right on Perry,” Sam explained, gesturing to the street sign.

“No way, man, it’s left. Did you even look at the map?” questioned Dean skeptically.

“Yes, I’m the one who drew the route, Dean,” Sam reminded him with mild exasperation.

“I’m like ninety-five percent sure it’s left,” Dean replied with certainty in his voice.

“Are you sure we take a left here?” Sam asked. “I really think it said to go right.”

“Yes, I am sure it was left!” Dean insisted, gesturing to the crowded street in that direction.

“I think it was two rights and a left,” suggested Sam with growing frustration.

“Two rights don’t make a left.” Dean commented with a cheesy grin. “Come on, Sammy, trust in my directional instincts. It’s left.” Sam was about to protest further, when something slammed into his side, tackling him to the ground.

“Sam!” yelled Dean, lunging at the woman clawing at Sam’s face and throat. Sam kicked her off and Dean plunged a knife into her stomach, which of course only made the demon smile. But to Dean’s surprise, instead of attacking, she collapsed to the ground. Nearby, an ordinary woman screamed, pointing at them, causing the crowds to observe the ‘dying’ woman on the ground and the bloody knife in Dean’s hand. Police officers from different directions came running and both Winchesters cursed creatively.

“Okay, we can go right if you insist,” Dean cracked, yanking Sam to his feet as they both sprinted away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Follow me,” Crowley said imperiously, striding down the sidewalk and looking somewhat out of place in his suit. Castiel obeyed with a heavy sigh, matching the demon’s brisk pace easily.

“To where are we going?” he asked finally.

“The Emerald,” Crowley answered shortly.

“Why are we going to see a rare stone?” questioned Castiel, eyebrows drawing together.

“It’s not an actual emerald, Giraffe, don’t be such an angel,” Crowley grumbled. “You’ll see when we get there.”

“But if-”

“Ah-ah, no ‘buts’ on the tour route. Well,” added Crowley, smiling lewdly, “Maybe we’ll involve butts later. For now, just enjoy the sight of the city.”

“It looks rather corrupt,” responded Castiel, taking in the neon lights advertising refreshing beer and posters of scantily clad women that did something funny to Castiel’s insides along with the sheer numbers of ordinary people crowding the streets and sidewalks.

“Ah, that it is,” the suited man agreed. “And isn’t it lovely? _Don’t_ answer that,” he added quickly.

“I do not understand why-”

“There, that’s it!” Crowley exclaimed, gesturing vaguely ahead. “The Emerald. Lovely place, and we shouldn’t have any trouble getting some close seats.”

“Close seats for what?” questioned Castiel.

“The stippers, my dear Castiel,” replied Crowley, smirking. “The strippers.” Castiel must have let his strong misgivings show, remembering the only other time Dean had taken him to such a place, because Crowley chuckled.

“Oh, please, put a sock in it. You’re a human now, this is good for you,” insisted Castiel’s companion.

“Why would I-” Castiel started to ask, but Crowley cut him off.

“It’s an expression, Cas, meaning you need to shut up.” The man in the navy sweater did just that, albeit sulkily. A bright green tube of neon shaped to resemble a cut gem loomed above their heads presently. As the two moved closer, green light flooding their faces, several different songs could be heard all at once from the building, and a flicker of colored light occasionally escaped the door.

“This is a den of iniquity,” choked Castiel as they approached the doors and could glimpse the interior.

“That it is,” agreed the demon, glancing approvingly at the colored lights and moving bodies just visible through the slightly ajar entrance. “Let’s go in.” And Crowley opened the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Did we… lose ‘em?” Dean panted, pressing his shoulders into the brick wall at his back.

“Think so,” Sam gasped back, peering around the corner. “Dammit. With all the people around it’s impossible to tell who’s what.”

“Yeah, and that demon got away. She’s gonna be angry that we got away scot-free.”

“First, banshee. Then we can go take care of Crowley,” Sam replied. “If we can find Johnson Drive, the house is apparently bright blue, so it won’t be hard to point out.”

“Then we just gotta gank the bitch,” Dean finished. “We’ve got the- crap.”

“What?” Sam asked with dread in his tone already at Dean’s sudden change in expression.

“All the gear, it’s still in the car. That’s in Utah.” Both Winchesters grimaced.

“Well, a banshee isn’t anything special, right? Just salt, lighter, shovel might be handy, and then earplugs, obviously,” Sam rattled off.

“Okay, tell you what,” Dean started, running a hand through his hair. “You go get salt and a shovel if you can find one, and start trying to find the grave. I’ll go get earplugs and head to the house she’s tied to, make sure nothing has people in immediate danger.”

“Sounds good. I’ll call you when I find the grave, it’s your turn to dig,” Sam reminded his brother.

“Nuh uh, it’s definitely your turn,” Dean protested.

“No, I did the ghost in Illinois last week, the Nazi guy?” Sam tried to elaborate.

“Oh.” The older brother sighed slightly. “Fine, in that case meet me at the house, just, you know, do the body first.”

“Sure, let’s go,” said Sam.

“And don’t forget to snap the neck before you burn it,” Dean added quickly as they strode down one of the less populated streets.

“Don’t forget to check the attic,” Sam returned.

“Oh, come on, why wouldn’t I check the- Demon!” Sam and Dean both broke into a run as the same blonde woman from before appeared behind them, a crimson bloodstain in the white fabric of the tank top over her stomach, and an equally horrifying grin on her face.

“Oh, come now, don’t run away!” she purred, and used an unseen force to fling the Winchesters into a metal dumpster. “Although you seem to be better at that than I thought,” she added, almost as if impressed. Her high red heels clacked on the pavement as she stalked closer and closer to her newest victims.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This makes me very uncomfortable,” Castiel insisted once more, but like before, his protest fell on deaf ears.

“Drink your beer,” Crowley barked back, taking a sip of his own glass of wine.

“It is not my opinion that-”

“So you’re not gonna drink that?” a woman’s voice interrupted. Castiel twisted quickly in his chair to see a scantily clad woman with straight dark hair leaning on his chair. Unconsciously, Castiel leaned away from her sudden closeness.

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” he replied. She slowly reached across him to the glass, subtly trailing her fingers over his chest.

“Mind if I take a sip? It gets awful hot here,” she added. Without waiting for an answer, the woman put Castiel’s drink to her lips and took a slow sip. Castiel briefly wondered why she needed to move her lips and tongue so much just to take a drink, before deciding it was probably not for practical reasons.

“Yes, I suppose it is excessively warm,” muttered Castiel, pushing his sweater sleeves up slightly and avoiding the woman’s eyes. From under the table, he felt a foot connect with his shin. Confused, Castiel looked questioningly at Crowley, who made obvious motions between the stripper and Castiel. The former angel swallowed with difficulty, and faced the woman, who was now leaning on the table, swirling her finger around the top of Castiel’s drink. _That’s probably not sanitary_ , Castiel thought briefly.

“You’re a bit of a shy one, hmm?” asked the woman, and reached for Castiel’s hand. When she began tracing the lines of his fingers and up his arm, he stiffened and glanced with worry at Crowley, who seemed to be silently and enthusiastically egging him on.

“Are… Are you trying to seduce me?” Castiel asked after a moment. Across the table, behind the woman’s back, Crowley dropped his face in his arms. The dark-haired woman smiled somewhat wolfishly.

“Not so shy after all, are you?” she purred, and moved slowly from leaning on the table into Castiel’s lap. His eyes widened to Crowley’s amusement as she pulled one hand down his jawline.

“Yes, I think I am trying to seduce you. And may I ask whom I have… the pleasure?” she asked, entwining a hand through Castiel’s dark hair. The man in question cast his companion a panicked look, but the demon across the table gave him an unhelpful two thumbs up under an amused grin.

“... Does it matter?” he decided to answer. The woman rubbed her hand along the back of Castiel’s neck and leaned in closer to whisper in his ear.

“Not for you it doesn’t.” She leaned back away suddenly and slid off his legs to stand again. “You should call me while you’re in town. I get off at midnight,” she added with a wink, withdrawing a piece of paper she had been carrying who-knew-where before sliding it into Castiel’s pocket. The second she was out of sight, Castiel grabbed his beer and gulped it down.

“That’s more like it,” Crowley said approvingly, smirking at the rather rumpled Castiel. “Get yourself hooked up in Vegas and you’ll have one for the memory album.”

“I do not plan to have intercourse with a woman I hardly know,” choked Castiel, slamming his empty glass down on the table. “I don’t understand human emotions, and mine seem to be extremely tangled with physical desires at the moment.” Crowley snorted with laughter.

“‘Physical desires’? That’s a brilliant euphemism for a biggie,” the demon laughed, taking a swig of his drink. “You learn to direct that pretty mouth of yours into pillow talk and you’ll have them all over you.”

“I don’t- ...That can’t- ...It isn’t-” Castiel gave up on what he was trying to say and stared forlornly at the empty glass.

“Oh, cheer up, Cas,” Crowley pleaded. “You’re in Vegas! Fine, you’re not into the girls. Guys, maybe?”

“Humans in general aren’t my forte,” Castiel replied after a moment of thought. Crowley shrugged.

“Just don’t let Dean hear you say that.”

Castiel nearly spat out his lungs from surprised coughing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“If you’re here to kill us, you better just take a number,” Dean quipped, struggling to his feet. The demon tilted her head to the side and tsked, shoving Dean back to the ground next to Sam without so much as touching him.

“Kill you two? No, that’s too good for you boys,” she said softly. “You’ve killed my sister, my father, and my brother. If someone’s dying tonight, it’ll just be one of you.” The host’s eyes turned to a demon’s black as she continued. “I want you to truly know what it’s like to lose someone, and know that this time, they won’t come back. But really,” she continued, ignoring the struggles of her captives, “I’d rather just watch you rot away in prison without ever seeing the other again.” The demon’s fist cracked against Sam’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Dean opened his mouth, probably to make a smart remark or threat, but a toss of blonde hair and a second hit silenced him.

“I’ve been looking forward to this for far too long. And now, weaponless, alone, in a huge city full of crime. They’ll see how your victim fought back,” she continued, kicking both hunters with precise aim at a shin or stomach. “But of course the two of you overpowered her. This little body will be the perfect evidence. She’s already dead, you know.” The brothers locked eyes, and Sam mouthed a word. Dean nodded back.

“Making plans against me?” The demon asked. “Why, my feelings are hurt. If you could-” Dean swung out his legs behind her feet, toppling the woman. Sam immediately started reciting the exorcism as quickly as possible. The woman’s head sprang up to glare at them, but her snarl turned into a scream.

“You always have to hurt people, don’t you?” gasped the blonde demon. “Just like you hurt Meg!” Sam stuttered briefly in the midst of the exorcism. The hunters stared at the woman in shock.

“How did you- Why do you care?” Dean asked warily, standing over the heavily breathing demon on the ground.

“I’m her sister!” hissed the woman with black eyes. “My sister possessed Meg Masters, so I wore the human Meg’s little sister! Drove her cuckoo,” laughed the demon. “Right off the edge, cut her own wrists and bled like a pig.” The woman displayed deep scars, smiling at them. “Of course I stayed even then, and the poor thing really would be better off dead at this-” The demon was cut off by Dean kicking her stomach. She doubled over gasping, then laughed wildly.

“I can tell it’s time I left. See you around, boys,” she smirked up at the brothers.

“No!” cried Dean.

“Satanica potestas-” Sam hurriedly tried to continue.

“Too late, sunshine.” A column of black smoke poured from the woman’s mouth and spiraled into the sky with a final scream. The body collapsed to the pavement with a final thud.

“Damn it,” snapped Dean. “Meg’s little sister? The demon and the chick, I mean? How messed up are we talkin’?”

“I’d say we’re pretty screwed. I hate to say this, but we need Crowley back in business,” Sam sighed.

“Yeah, I know. Okay, back to the plan. Banshee. Let’s move.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you going to cough up blood in a moment? Should I protect my suit?” Crowley asked with minimal concern as Castiel tried to control his violent choking.

“Why-” he coughed a few more times, “Why would I tell Dean anything about going to strip clubs?”

“Oh, come on, Cas,” Crowley sighed. “Figure it out! Put two and two together. You get a jumpy feeling in your chest and below the belt when you see this guy, right? There’s two. You can’t stop staring at each other, and you both have this little smile that you only use for the other. That’s the other two.”

“That is… Are you implying I have an attraction to Dean?” asked Castiel slowly.

“I’m not implying anything, Giraffe. I’m _telling_ you to do something about this ‘profound bond’ thing.”

“Like what?” questioned Castiel, confused yet again.

“Like, get a room,” the demon replied in a ‘duh’ tone. “You clearly like each other. No reason to not-”

“This conversation is over,” Castiel declared suddenly, standing up from the table. “Is there anywhere less… this?” he asked, gesturing to the strip club in general. Crowley sighed, leaning back in his chair.

“Determined to stay in that closet, I see. Not as much as Dean, but still.” He sipped his drink, staring at Castiel almost pityingly.

“I am not in a closet,” replied Castiel, eyebrows drawing together with confusion. The demon across the table set down his glass and stood without answering Castiel’s question, simply sighing loudly.

“Fine. If you insist, we’ll go somewhere else. Naked pool?” Crowley snapped his fingers, and Castiel saw enough in one second to cover his eyes.

“Den. Of. Iniquity,” he growled, trying to block all of his senses.

“Oh yes,” replied a happy-sounding Crowley.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Sam jogged out of the store toward Dean, pulling a package out of the bag as he went.

“Earplugs,” Sam explained, handing the package to Dean, who stuffed it in his jacket pocket. “Salt.” Dean took the offered cannister of ghost-repellant and tucked it into a different pocket, Sam doing the same with his own earplugs and salt.

“Alright, I’ll hit the graveyard,” Dean sighed, taking the tiny little shovel Sam handed him and glaring at it. “What’s her name, again?”

“Molly Jenkins,” Sam reminded him. “Died 1921.”

“Got it. See you at the house.” Dean jogged off toward the cemetery, shovel in hand, knowing it was a long walk ahead of him and dreading it already. Sam hurried in the opposite direction toward Johnson Drive, already scanning the houses for one that was bright blue. Honestly, it wasn’t very hard to find. Sam ran up to the door and started knocking frantically.

“Hello!” he called out. “I’m Sam Jefferson with the CDC, open up!” After another minute or so of Sam trying not to break down the door, a lock turned and the blue door swung inward. A young woman with a pink mohawk and multiple piercings and tattoos looked back at him, surprise and annoyance on her face.

“Yeah?” she asked.

“Uh, hi, I’m Sam Jefferson, CDC agent, and you and anyone else in this residence needs to get out now.” The woman smacked her gum.

“Like, right now?” she clarified.

“Yes, right now! Get everyone out! Go!” Sam cried. The woman heaved a sigh and turned around to yell into the house.

“Kel, we have to get out! Somethin’ of government urgency!” A second woman, in complete contrast to the first with plain brown hair and a Star Wars T-shirt, ran into sight, barefoot.

“What? Why?” she demanded.

“I’m Sam Jefferson,” sighed Sam, “And this residence is extremely unsafe. You need to get out right now.” The woman, presumably Kel, looked to the first woman and tossed her hands in the air.

“Not like we were doing anything anyway,” grumbled Kel with sarcasm, glaring at Sam.

“Don’t remind me,” groaned the pink-haired woman.

“Please,” Sam begged them. “You have to get-” A window shattering from somewhere in the house startled the three people at the door.

“If that’s Joey again, I swear I’m gonna-” the first woman started to growl, when a blur of white shot through the air to throw Kel to the ground.

“Cover your ears!” Sam ordered, and clapped his palms over his ears as the ghastly visage of a woman opened her mouth and screamed. Another window shattered, Sam saw the glass pieces skitter over the hardwood floor. Sam pressed one ear against his shoulder and whipped out the container of salt with his free hand, flinging salt at the banshee. With a shriek, she flew backwards and vanished. Dropping to his knees, Sam felt for a pulse in Kel’s neck.

“Oh my gosh, is she dead? She can’t be dead,” gasped the woman with piercings, obviously holding back tears. “Kel? Kendell? Can you hear me?” Sam found a pulse about the same time Kel stirred.

“Jen?” she asked softly.

“Oh my gosh, Kel, don’t do that!” Jen hugged the woman fiercely, and Sam tried to not watch their moment.

“Seriously, uh, guys, you need to get out before she comes back,” he interrupted. Jen hauled Kel to her feet and glared at Sam.

“What was that?” demanded Jen, eyes flashing more than her metal rings.

“It’s hard to explain. Just wait outside and I promise we’ll tell you all we can,” Sam reassured her. The women hurried outside, and Sam fumbled in his pocket for the earplugs.

“They dare!” At the high-pitched shriek, Sam moved even faster to rip open the package of earplugs. “They DARE to live in my house! My rooms! My home!”

“Molly,” Sam called, one earplug in and the other ready to be applied. “Molly Jenkins. My name is Sam. I’m here to help you.”

“If you’re helping, why am I _burning_?” shrieked the banshee, appearing suddenly at the end of the hall. Sure enough, her hair and clothes danced with ghostly fire. Dean apparently had found the body.

“My brother and I are going to help you rest, Molly. Wouldn’t you like to rest?” The banshee’s face took on a curious expression, as if she hadn’t considered such a notion before. “No more chasing,” Sam continued carefully. “No more hiding. No more pain.”

“If I rest, then who will keep people out of MY HOUSE?” cried the woman, her blonde hair swirling about her shoulders angrily.

“Why not let other people live here?” Sam asked softly. “You don’t need it anymore.”

“They took it from me!” hissed the woman, fists clenched tight. “They took it from me, and my child wept until he died in my arms!” she shrieked. “I may not need it, but none can use it! Let them burn as I burn! Let them die as my child died! Let them SCREAM!” Sam shoved the other earplug in just in time, as the banshee let loose her fatal howl. The door crashed open, interrupting the banshee. Dean, dirt-caked shovel in hand and earplugs in, ran to Sam as the banshee started screaming with fresh anger.

“What does she need?” Dean mouthed.

“House,” Sam mouthed back. Dean was probably cursing, if Sam could hear it.

“What do we do?” asked Dean. Sam shrugged helplessly, as Molly Jenkins screamed and screamed, trying to warn off further intruders and kill the ones already here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Happy now?” asked Crowley after another snap. Cautiously, Castiel uncovered his eyes. Flashing lights and strange electronic sounds filled his senses at first, but the second thing he noticed, with great relief, was that most of the occupants were wearing suits or evening gowns, with jewels sparkling at wrists and throats. It was a pleasant change from the first place they had visited, and Castiel was going to try not to think about the second.

“Yes, I am more happy,” Castiel answered. Crowley seemed to be slightly disgruntled about this, but smiled dryly.

“Ever played poker, Cas? I imagine you’d be brilliant.”

“I have not had the time to engage in frivolity such as card games, although Dean has been trying to teach me the game pool. Which is not the same as a swimming pool,” Castiel added. Crowley smirked.

“You’re adorable. C’mon, poker isn’t hard, we’ll do a practice round, and then we can go make a few dollars,” the demon suggested, clapping Castiel on the back.

“I do not think gambling here would be wise,” Castiel tried to resist.

“Don’t be such an angel. Why ever not?” complained Crowley.

“Because in my research for this case, I discovered that this city is notorious for its casinos and gambling. This is a casino,” he pointed out flatly.

“What?” laughed Crowley. “It’s not a casino! Just a… bar with cards.”

“The sign outside says ‘Jewel’s Casino’.” Even backwards from inside the window, the neon sign was rather obvious. “Crowley, just because I am human does not mean I am stupid,” growled Castiel. “Humans can actually be more clever than demons in many ways. Creativity, individuality-”

“Please, spare me the soap box. You’ve always liked humans, you sap,” Crowley grumbled. “Fine, it might be a casino. But I’m the King of Hell,” he said, lifting his eyebrows. “If anyone is to teach you the art of tricking poor bastards out of their money, it’s me.” Castiel considered this with suspicion.

“I still don’t think this is wise.” In reply, Crowley just smiled reassuringly, which really wasn’t reassuring to Castiel at all.

“Cas, m’boy, let’s talk dirty. Dirty money, dirty cards, and dirty hands. Find us an inconspicuous table, and your education-” Crowley drew a pack of cards from somewhere, and made them soar from hand to hand in an impressive arc, “- will begin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You,” hissed the banshee, interrupting her own screaming as she recognized the shovel in the new intruder’s hand. Dean twiddled his fingers in a greeting.

“Hey, sweetheart. Looking good for a ghost.” That’s what Sam thought he said, at least, following his brother’s banter was hard when it was just lip reading.

“You want to kill me! You liar!” The banshee flew at Sam, but Dean swung his cannister of salt, and the resulting arc of salt lashed into the ghost like a whip. She disappeared briefly, and reappeared at the end of the hall, fuming with her hands balled into fists.

“I will have my revenge on this house!” was probably what she screamed.

“No! We’re trying to help!” Sam yelled. “We want you to be able to rest with your son!” The banshee looked surprised.

“My son?” she mouthed. Sam took out one earplug cautiously, but Molly didn’t look like she was about to scream again. Beside him, Dean did the same.

“Molly, we really are trying to help. Let go of the house. It can’t save your son now. Just let go.”

“But…” the banshee’s form flickered slightly, and she gasped. “I’m afraid! What will my son think? What if someone takes the house away from the people here now?”

“Then we’ll come back. We can protect your house, Ms. Jenkins,” Dean said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Leave this job to the living.” The banshee’s form flickered more violently, and the flames were slowly dying away from her hair and clothes.

“Don’t let anyone else be hurt by my house,” she whispered. “Promise.” The Winchesters nodded solemnly. And with a small sigh, the white imprint of Molly Jenkins dissipated into white smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I fold,” the burly man said, throwing down his hand of cards. “Beat that, ladies.” Castiel and the other three men at the table displayed their cards. After a moment of analyzing the cards of the other players, the four men stared at Castiel in disbelief.

“How in hell-” breathed the man with a goatee, staring at Castiel with mistrust and yet admiration.

“I thought you were green, for sure,” muttered a young man with cufflinks that looked like diamonds (and perhaps were actually diamonds).

“I’m full of surprises,” Castiel answered robotically, just like he had the last six games with other unsuspecting men. As the small party split, and Castiel gathered his winnings, Crowley appeared from his spot in the shadows.

“You know, when I speculated that you’d be good at poker, I didn’t think you’d be this good. For an angel, you’re shockingly good at bluffing.”

“I’m not an angel,” sighed Castiel. “Not anymore. And it’s been four and a half hours since Sam and Dean left, we should probably go to the Silver Bar to meet them.”

“Killjoy,” grumbled Crowley. “Aren’t you at least a little happy with this place?” Castiel ran a finger through the stack of bills from the most recent game, and smiled slightly.

“I’m pleased because this money will be sufficient for later uses.”

“Sufficient?” snorted the demon. “You could buy a car with that money. Come on, Cas, at least buy a drink.”

“Silver Bar,” Castiel stated firmly.

“Fine, if I zap us there now instead of making you play another game, you have to drink one glass of whatever I choose.” Cas narrowed his eyes.

“And if I refuse?”

“Nothing’s keeping me here, you three can walk back to Utah,” Crowley said nonchalantly.

“Very well,” Castiel sighed. Crowley smiled, and snapped his fingers. Castiel found himself on a barstool, looking at a very startled bartender.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Crowley said smoothly. “I need two Long Island Iced Teas, if you’d be so kind, and one of those extra long.” The bartender recovered quickly and reached for glasses.

“Iced tea is non-alcoholic,” Castiel stated, confused.

“Not if it’s from Long Island,” chuckled Crowley. “And the extra long one is for you, angel.”

“I’m not-” Castiel started, but the bartender returned before he could finish protesting.

“Two Long Island Iced Teas, one extra long?” asked the bartender.

“That’s his,” Crowley said, smirking and taking the other one. Castiel took the ‘extra long’ drink with a suspicious, somewhat regretful look. “And here’s your money, darling, keep the change,” Crowley said, handing the bartender a fifty dollar bill. She took it without a change in expression, and the demon looked mildly disappointed before turning again to the man in the navy sweater.

“Bottoms up, Cas, it’s not every day a demon treats you to a free drink.”

“I do not trust your decision in drinks,” Castiel replied, his misgivings blatantly obvious.

“Come on, Giraffe, give it a try. Look, I’ll drink mine if it gives you comfort.” Crowley drank most of the glass in one go, and shook his head as he cleared his throat. “Phew, I forgot how the rum makes an appearance halfway down.” Castiel looked at his glass with distaste, then steeled himself and took a large sip. Immediately, his eyes started watering and he coughed at the sudden intake of alcohol. Crowley laughed and pounded him on the back.

“That’s more like it, chap! Down the hatch!”

“This will make me drunk more quickly than I anticipated,” Castiel choked out.

“No backing out!” Crowley insisted, waggling a finger back and forth. “One drink for one teleport. That was the deal.”

“I’m not sure I can finish this,” protested Castiel with doubt.

“Don’t make me force-feed it to you,” Crowley threatened. With a grimace at the unpleasant thought, Castiel took another, more controlled, sip of the drink. A slightly warm tingling was spreading through his fingers and toes, which seemed like a negative sign. As a human, it seemed, Castiel’s tolerance for alcohol was significantly lower.

“This was a mistake,” Castiel managed to say coherently. Crowley pointed to the glass and then to Cas, as if reminding him to drink again. “As Dean would say,” Castiel said, glaring both at the drink and at Crowley, “Screw it.” And finished the glass of ‘extra long’ Long Island Iced Tea.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam pushed open the glass door to the Silver Bar, letting the sounds of music, clinks of glassware, and the murmur of talking punctuated by bursts of laughter escape into the street. Dean followed him inside, and Sam pointed to one of the counters. Together, the exhausted brothers crossed the room to their friend and their ride home.

“Ready to go, Cas?” asked Dean, clapping a hand on Cas’s shoulder. But the second Cas turned around, some visceral instinct in Dean started sending red alerts to his brain. Something was... _off_ about Cas.

“Why would we go? It was just starting to not be a horrible trip,” Cas sighed, looking at the lights and blinking slowly. Sam and Dean exchanged a mirrored ‘what the hell’ look.

"Crowley?" Sam said in a warning tone.

"He agreed to it! Not my fault one drink did him in," the demon defended himself.

"That's- that's not what happened," Cas slurred, and laughed strangely. "We made a deal."

"You WHAT?" Both hunters stared at Castiel and Crowley in horror.

"Not for his soul, you idiots," Crowley grumbled.

"For the drink, the alcoholic drink," Cas finished, slurring his words slightly. "Crowley wasn't going to take us back unless I did this." The former angel hiccuped loudly and looked mildly surprised.

"Well, thanks for looking out for us, buddy," Dean replied with a heavy amount of sarcasm.  

"You are so very welcome, Dean," Cas answered woozily, smiling up at him.

"Yeah, okay, that's great. Crowley, let's go."

"Party pooper," the demon grumbled, and snapped his fingers. The four found themselves in a motel room, a third cot set up already and the television murmuring softly in the background.

"Where are we?” asked Sam, tyring to get his bearings as he looked around the room.

“Yeah, and what about my car?" Dean demanded. "You promised-"

"Don't get all aggressive already," interrupted Crowley, rubbing his forehead and sighing, "It's outside in the parking lot. And the room is paid for. With real money.” Cas wobbled toward the Winchesters to explain.

"I beat him at poker," he explained. "On my first try."

"Crowley taught you how to play poker?" Sam repeated incredulously, casting Crowley a dubious look.

"Yeah, yeah he did, are you jealous, Sam?" Cas asked, swaying slightly.

"Woah, hey man, you okay?" Dean grabbed Cas's arm to steady him. Cas leaned into Dean and sighed loudly.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he grumbled mildly. A silent pause dominated the motel room, in which the Winchesters exchanged a worried, slightly panicked look.

“You know, as entertaining as it is to see Castiel wobbling like a newborn giraffe,” Crowley began with a smirk, “I think it’s time I go. There is a lovely lake of fire waiting for its king.”

“Woah, woah, you can’t just dump us with a guy that you got drunk!” Dean protested.

“Oh, ‘M nothat drunk, Dean,” Cas slurred, clutching Sam’s shoulder for support and blinking blearily at the room.

“Yeah, you kinda are,” Sam asserted.

“Let’s not get picky over who got who drunk,” the demon said with a tiny smile. “All I know is that bloody moron Daisy apparently thinks that I left for good!” Crowley seemed to have a moment of trouble controlling his temper, red blotches creeping over his face before he squared his shoulders. “But that is not the point. Obviously, my holiday is over,” he huffed. “Thanks for the entertainment. I’ll be seeing you soon, probably.”

“I hope not,” mumbled Castiel, then laughed strangely. Crowley shot him an almost pitying look.

“This may not have been one of my better ideas,” he announced with a glance at Cas. “But do have fun! And Cas, old boy, don’t forget what we talked about.”

“What?” croaked the man in the sweater.

“The important topic at the bar, you remember. Although you probably won’t tomorrow,” the demon added. Castiel’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, his eyes squinting at Crowley. “You’ll figure it out eventually,” the demon sighed. A quick snap of his fingers, and Crowley disappeared from sight. The three left standing (or swaying, in Castiel’s case) exchanged glances for a cue for the next move.

“I think I should sit down,” Castiel finally said into the silence, and lurched toward the bed. Dean grabbed his arm and helped ease him down.

“Hey, man, just go to sleep. You’ll thank us in the morning,” insisted Dean, giving Sam a tiny smirk.

“The more sleep the better, really, and you’ll wish it was longer after you wake up,” Sam added, already looking at Castiel with the sympathetic expression he usually reserved for women whose boyfriends had been killed by a monster.

“Yeah, and I’ll take the cot, don’t bother moving,” Dean added hastily as Cas started to rise. “Just lie down and… try to relax.”

"Dean, I'm supposed to tell you something," muttered Cas, squinting at Dean. "Something important."

"I'm sure you can tell me tomorrow,” Dean replied briskly.

“Dean,” Sam said softly. The brother turned, eyebrows raised questioningly. Sam made a ‘c’mere’ gesture, to which Dean sighed and approached.

“What’s up?”

“We didn’t tell Crowley about Meg’s sister,” Sam muttered under his breath, glancing warily at Castiel. “I don’t want to stress him out, but she could come here for us and find him. Even better target.”

“Point made,” sighed Dean. “Okay, well, what do you want to do about it?”

“I’ll try calling him first. If he doesn’t answer, I’m summoning him. I want to actually sleep tonight after this day. It’s been weird by our standards,” he grumbled.

“And that’s saying something,” Dean added with a grin. Sam returned the smile.

“Okay. I’m going to sit in the car so she can’t come up behind me.”

“Sure. Shout if you need us to save your butt.”

“Same to you. But I’m not saving you from puke duty,” Sam quickly amended.

“You’re a crap brother, you know that?” Dean said teasingly.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.” The familiar terms exchanged, Sam stepped toward the door, and Dean toward the bed. Castiel had one shoe off, the sock hanging halfway off his foot, and the other shoe untied but still in place. He was snoring slightly on the bed. With a tiny sigh, Dean moved closer, unsure of the exact boundaries here. Sam closed the door behind him, leaving Dean alone with a sleeping Cas. Quietly, cautiously, Dean pulled the dangling sock off the rest of the way, and started to pry the shoe off the other foot.

“Dean?” A sleep- and alcohol-numbed voice asked.

“Hey Cas. Go back to sleep, you just couldn’t quite get your shoes off. I got it,” Dean reassured him, letting the second shoe thump to the floor.

"Your eyes are very, very green. Has anyone ever told you that?" Castiel said suddenly. Dean blinked in surprise.

"Uh, not too much," Dean replied with a tiny, forced laugh.

“Is it cold to you?” Cas continued, squinting at Dean against the light from the table lamp.

“Are you cold?” asked Dean. Cas shrugged. “There is this new invention I’ve heard about. It’s called a _blanket_ ,” the hunter added sarcastically. “Keeps you warm in bed when you’re under it, not on top of it.”

“Blankets aren’t a new invention,” Castiel started, his eyebrows already scrunching together in way that Dean found decidedly not cute at all.

“Sarcasm, Cas. Seriously, just crawl under the covers and pass out. That’s my plan.” Dean started to turn around to go into the tiny bathroom, when Cas’s eyes widened. After flailing a bit, Cas snagged Dean’s arm on the second try.

"Dean," Castiel whispered hoarsely.

“Yeah?” he answered, trying to be patient with Cas.

"Dean, I remembered."

"Remembered what?" Dean asked with forced calmness, raising his eyebrows.

"Closer," Castiel replied. Dean obliged, leaning closer to Cas's face, expecting to hear some kind of secret.

He was not expecting Cas to kiss him.

"Woah, hey, easy there," Dean said as he leaned away after just a (very, very nice) moment of contact. "You're more wasted than I thought," he added, more to himself than to Cas.

"Dean," Castiel whispered. "Listen. I'm trying to tell you."

"I'm listening," Dean replied slowly, confused by this strange version of Castiel.

"No, you aren't," grumbled a frustrated, drunken Cas. "I'm trying to tell you something."

"Then tell me," Dean asked impatiently. Cas raised off the bed slightly and found Dean's mouth again with his own, tangling his fingers in Dean's hair. When Castiel pulled away after another moment, he read the skepticism and confusion on Dean's face quite plainly.

"I need you," Castiel croaked. "And you never listen." Silence filled the motel room as Castiel waited for a response. Dean felt his head whirling, trying to keep up with _what the hell Cas kissed him_.

"I'm listening now," Dean replied shakily after a moment. As the surprise faded away, blue eyes and green ones locked, Dean realized he wanted to kiss Castiel again, and properly this time, none of this sloppy mouth-missing. Every inch of his body was demanding he pull Cas closer and show him exactly how kissing worked. But Dean held himself back, for reasons he told himself rather than admit his own cowardice. Cas was drunk. He was newly human, a baby dropped into the world with weird speech patterns and beautiful eyes. Cas didn't understand what he was doing.

But if Dean was really honest with himself, in the secret parts of his heart, he was afraid. Afraid of the unknown, mostly, but also afraid of what others would think, and afraid Cas was only drunk and didn't mean it. Maybe, deep down, Dean also feared to acknowledge his feelings for the former angel. It would mean a connection he hadn’t allowed himself since… since Cassie? And that was nothing compared to this. His heart didn’t go all funny when Cassie smiled, and his feet didn’t stumble when Cassie made a comment about his ideas, and his chest never swelled when Cassie did something badass. Castiel was different from… everything. So despite his mind bombarding him with reasons to turn away, resisting a hopeful Castiel gazing up at him turned out to be more than Dean's self-control could handle.

"Screw it," he sighed, and let his lips meet Castiel's once more. Cas tasted mostly like alcohol, which Dean really didn't mind, but something more was there, too, something that spoke of Castiel's very essence that Dean would never be able to describe. Castiel was trying not to fall asleep, as the alcohol warred with his mind for control over his body. He didn’t want to fall asleep, not now. Their lips moved together, Dean letting his tongue dart out just a little to brush Cas’s lips, sparking a surprised, pleased sound. After a minute of or so of exploring, Dean pushed Cas back on the bed to make room for himself so he didn't have to awkwardly stand anymore. Which somehow turned into Cas on Dean's lap, his legs wrapped around Dean's hips.

"How long?" Dean asked between breaths, letting his hands run through Cas’s even messier hair.

"Since before I was human," Castiel answered with surprising clarity. "You?"

"I can't remember," Dean admitted. "But I'm not sure that matters right at this instant." And Cas seemed to agree, kissing him with renewed fervor.

Overall, Dean reflected, maybe this case in Vegas wasn’t so bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sam returned to the room, yawning widely, he was surprised to find Castiel asleep in one of the motel beds and Dean snoring away on the cot. But as rumpled as the motel bed was, it looked like Dean had trouble just getting Cas to go to sleep at all. Sam sure wasn’t going to complain about Dean doing something nice. Sam pulled over the motel's notepad and scribbled out a note for the morning since the others were already asleep, and since he himself planned on sleeping as long as possible tomorrow.

_Crowley answered. Said he called off Meg's sister and he apologizes for 'inconveniences'. Sounds like he took care of her. He's back in the office. Still don’t know why he went on vacation, but hopefully he didn’t do anything too bad since Cas was demon-sitting._

Message written and mostly legible, Sam tossed off his shoes, hit the light switch, and fell into the unoccupied bed with a pleased sigh. No way was he was getting up to run tomorrow morning, not after this oddball of a day. Sleeping in sounded fantastic, he thought sleepily, as his eyelids closed.

Sam wasn’t even awake long enough to see Dean and Castiel smiling softly at each other before they really fell asleep.

 

 


End file.
